


Flowers

by CloakedSparrow



Series: Collected Bat-Family Stories [48]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Background Relationships, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Cemetery, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, Language of Flowers, Major Illness, No Romance, No Sex, No Smut, One Shot, Past Character Death, super family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloakedSparrow/pseuds/CloakedSparrow
Summary: Damian learns a little about flower language and lot about family.





	Flowers

Damian sat in the tree feeling rather foolish. He tugged on his starched collar and looked down at his dangling feet. His fine vegan leather loafers had been scuffed when he climbed up. Alfred would be displeased. 

He looked at the flowers sitting on the branch beside him. He’d asked Alfred about the different kinds, if they held any meaning. He’d been assured that they did. Timothy had been in the study as well, since he’d recently developed a fever that had Dr Thompkins concerned and Alfred insisted that he be able to keep an eye on the boy until some test results came in. Damian hadn’t been in the study because he was seeking company -especially not Timothy’s- he’d just been looking for Alfred and the other boy worked quietly enough that there hadn’t been any reason to leave. Timothy had gotten up silently, still looking over some report one of his employees had sent him on his tablet, and grabbed a book off a shelf without looking (because he apparently knew where every book in Bruce’s study went).

Timothy dropped the book on the sofa beside Damian and spoke casually as he returned to the desk. “This one’s good.”

It was a book on flower arrangements and the meanings of various flora. Alfred agreed that it was a very good reference guide. After looking through the book, Damian had to agree. 

And that was how he came to purchase the bouquet of daffodils. He knew roses would have been expected. However, he thought expressing love was a bit disingenuous, considering he hardly knew their intended recipient. Expressing regard was much more fitting. Besides, he assumed she would be receiving roses from others that day. His bouquet might be a refreshing change, assuming she cared about such things. 

He assumed she’d know the meaning. After all, from what he’d seen and heard, she was a very impressive specimen. Well educated and possessing knowledge in a great many areas of interest. 

He knew he should just give her the bouquet, wish her a happy birthday, and be done with it. It wasn’t as if she was going to strike up a conversation with him. Even if she was aware of who he was, even if she was _interested_ , she wasn’t operating on the same plane as him. 

“Hey, Dami! Watcha doin’?”

Damian startled. It made his response considerably more harsh than was likely necessary, but he didn’t care. “Quiet, imbecile!” He hissed the words out. “You’re going to give away my position! Get down here!”

He yanked Jon down into the tree, so they wouldn't be seen. 

Jon settled down beside him. His friend didn’t seem bothered by his tone. He _did_ , however, appear perturbed by the situation he’d found him in as a whole. He was considerate enough to lower his voice to a whisper when he spoke next. “Why are we hiding in a tree? And why are you in your Sunday finest?”

“These aren’t my ‘Sunday finest’.” He tugged on his starched collar again. “I simply thought this attire was appropriate for the occasion. And I’m not _hiding_. I’m simply...waiting. And watching.”

“For what?” Jon looked around. “Isn’t it a little, day-lightly, for your family to be working?”

Damian rolled his eyes. Then he returned them to the target of his interest. “Would I be dressed like this is I was working?”

“With your family?” His friend shrugged. “Who knows?” 

Damian had to admit, that was fair. “This is a personal matter.”

“Oh.” Jon nodded toward the bouquet. “What’s with the flowers? Is that why we’re in a cemetery?” He suddenly looked concerned. “Did someone-”

“No one died, Jon.” Damian blinked. “Well, not lately. Not anyone I know, anyway.” It was Gotham, there had likely been a few deaths that morning or the previous evening. His family couldn't prevent all of them, after all.

He motioned toward the gravestone he’d been watching. “Its my paternal grandmother’s birthday. I thought, perhaps, I should acknowledge her. Now that I’m here…” He sighed quietly. “It all seems silly.”

Jon tossed an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “It isn’t silly. She’s your grandma. My grandma says that its good to remember the people who aren’t with us any more. It lets us move on from grief so we can still love. She says they’re still part of our lives, even if its not in the way we’re used to.”

He thought for a second. “Grandpa says its important to remember the past, as long as you don’t live in it. He says, that way, we remember who we are but still grow into the people we’re supposed to be. So however you look at it, its good to remember your grandma once in a while.”

“Grand _mother_ , not grand _ma_ , if you don’t mind.” Damian _had_ to make the correction. By all accounts, Martha Wayne deserved the more dignified title. 

Still, he appreciated his fiend’s effort to reassure him. And he did respect the elder Kents. “And as much as I appreciate Grandmother and Grandfather Kent’s Southern pearls of wisdom, I don’t actually _remember_ my grandmother. She passed before I was even born. However, I _am_ her only biological grandchild and I thought…perhaps it would be appropriate to acknowledge her on her birthday. Father and Pennyworth always speak so highly of her...”

“That’s probably why Alfred’s coming now, huh?” Jon commented easily, looking away. 

Damian immediately turned his head to follow his friend's line of sight. Alfred was approaching, but still far enough away that he was unlikely to have heard them speaking. He was carrying a flower wreath on a little stand. It contained pink and white carnations, with a few daffodils and some scattered fern and ivy. It was tasteful, considerate, and respectful. It was exactly the sort of thing Damian would have expected Alfred to bring his grandmother if he’d considered that the man brought her flowers on her birthday. 

Alfred ensured that Martha Wayne’s gravestone (and Thomas’ as well) was clean and free of any unwanted flora that may have began growing. The Waynes’ graves were generally kept in good order, so there was little to do. It appeared he just wanted them to look especially fine on her birthday. He laid his hand on the stone and said something quietly. He continued speaking softly, but not for long. Then he offered both gravestones a respectful nod and left the way he’d come.

Once the man was well beyond earshot (and he had remarkably fine hearing) Damian turned to Jon. “Did you catch what he said?”

“He said ‘many happy returns, ma'am’ and then told her what an honor it was to continue serving her family and how proud she’d be of her son and grandchildren.” Jon watched Alfred as he left the cemetery, head held high and posture perfect. “He’s like the best character out of a storybook.”

Damian silently agreed. His mind was too distracted to respond. He hadn’t considered _speaking_ to his grandmother’s grave. It seemed pointless. However, seeing Alfred do so made him wonder if that was the respectful thing to do. 

He didn’t want to disrespect his grandmother. From her charities, to her business sense, to her intelligence, to her breeding, everything he knew about the woman spoke of dignity. He was proud to be her grandson. He didn’t want his actions to suggest otherwise. Death was treated _very_ differently on his father’s side of the family than it was on his mother's. It would be easy to misstep and insult.

Damian remembered that Jon’s maternal grandparents were deceased. “Jon, do you ever go to your grandparents’ graves?” He turned to his friend. “Even though you never met them?”

“Of course. They’re still my grandparents.” Jon’s answer was simple. 

He elaborated without any prompting, helping his friend understand. “It doesn’t matter if I never met them. Mom’s told me plenty about them, and they’re part of me. We don’t go for _every_ birthday and holiday though. ‘Course, their graves aren’t as close as your grandparents’ are, since Grandpa Lane was in the military. Not that I think your grandma-ther would be mad if you didn’t come.”

Damian appreciated that last comment, since his friend was more familiar with the traditions around grave-visiting. However, he still needed to ask the question that had prompted the conversation. “Do you speak to them when you go there?”

“Not really, since I never knew them. But mom talks to grandma’s grave sometimes. She misses her.” Jon didn’t sound as though he thought the action were odd or that not doing so was something to feel bad about. He seemed to think it was just a matter of personal preference or a reflection of one’s relationship with the departed. 

Martha Wayne could hardly expect Damian to speak to her grave when he hadn’t known her personally, and when such sentimentalities went against his disposition.

“Are you gonna go give her the flowers now?” Jon looked further into the cemetery, away from the main entrance. “Or do you wanna wait until Tim’s done first?” 

Damian’s head snapped in the direction his friend was looking. Sure enough, Timothy was approaching as a sedate pace. Damian had no idea why he was coming from the direction that he was. There wasn’t even a public entrance on that side of the cemetery and it wasn’t more convenient in regards to the Manor. 

The other boy wasn’t dressed as nicely as Damian, but he was still dressed well, and he was carrying a small bouquet of what appeared to be wild flowers. When he approached Martha Wayne’s grave, Damian recognized aster, bluebells, daisies, edelweiss, violets, and morning glories. The feelings that spoke to weren’t too bold, and more than respectful enough, but still a little surprising from someone who’d never even met the woman he was leaving the bouquet for. 

Damian frowned. “Why is _he_ here?”

Again, Jon responded as though the answer were simple. “Well, she’s a local hero, isn’t she? And Tim’s lived in Gotham all his life. Maybe he grew up hearing stories about her. Plus, she’s his grandmother too.” 

“No, she _isn’t_.” Damian shot a small glare at his friend.

“Yeah, she _is_.” Jon spoke again before his friend could react beyond his glare intensifying. “When your dad adopted him, she became his grandma whether you like it or not.” 

He put an arm around his friend again. “You know, I have adopted brothers too. It doesn’t matter how they came into the family. They’re still family and I’m glad I have them. Them being here doesn’t mean my parents or grandparents love me any less. Its just means I have more people who love me.”

Damian crossed his arms. It was difficult to explain to someone like Jon why it mattered that he was his father’s only blood child. Jon hadn’t seen enough of the world to understand the nature of prestige or worthiness or birthrights. 

At the same time, he understood what Jon was saying, on some level. While he’d despised the very idea of his father claiming others as his children when he arrived in Gotham, Damian had come to realize and even appreciate the support system his adopted siblings offered him. While some of them bothered him from time to time, and he still didn’t appreciate any of them claiming part of _his_ family legacy, they had each proven themselves to be worthy of his father’s regard. More than that, they’d each proven to be worthy teachers in their own areas of expertise. Damian would be a better Batman when his time came because of them. 

Naturally, he wasn’t going to tell any of them that. 

Glancing at his grandmother’s grave again, he noticed that Timothy was still there. He also noticed that he was quietly speaking to Martha Wayne’s grave. “What is he talking about?”

“He’s telling her something about the Wayne Foundation. I’m not listening any more. Its not right. He should be able to talk to his grandma in private.” Jon put his hands over his ears. He started humming quietly to emphasize the fact that he wasn’t listening. 

Damian rolled his eyes but he didn’t press his friend to eavesdrop any further. Timothy stayed longer than Alfred but not terribly long. Then he left the same way he came. 

“Why is he going _that_ way?” It didn’t make any sense.

Apparently, Jon could still hear him through his hands and humming. He stopped to answer. “Maybe he’s doing something over there and just stopped by to wish your grandmother a happy birthday?”

That didn’t quite follow. “He’s ill. He’s only supposed to work from the Manor today.” Damian drew his brows in and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “That isn’t the direction one coming from the Manor would naturally take.”

“Maybe there’s something he wanted to avoid, then.” Jon turned from Timothy’s retreating form to something in the other direction, toward the public cemetery entrance. “Your dad’s coming.”

His father had actually been the only person Damian expected to come that day. He was surprised he came at mid-morning though. He’d expected him to either come early in the morning or later in the evening. 

His father was wearing a nice suit and carrying two bouquets, which confused Damian a little. As he watched, his father smiled at the sight of Alfred’s wreath, then turned a perplexed look upon Timothy’s bouquet. Ignoring the unexpected gift, he placed the larger bouquet he carried -which consisted of both true red and deep crimson roses surrounded by fern and white clover and encased in some lace-like paper- at his mother’s grave. He didn’t speak beyond an initial greeting, from what Damian could see. He just stood by her grave for a long, quiet moment. 

Neither Damian or Jon spoke while his father stood at Martha Wayne’s grave. Damian felt that was appropriate. If his father wanted a moment of silence at his mother’s grave, he should have that. 

On his way out of the cemetery, his father paused by another grave and set down the smaller bouquet. It consisted of white and purple hyacinth along with some fern. 

Damian hit Jon in the arm. “Whose grave is that? Can you make it out?”

His friend didn’t respond to the hit. He might not have even felt it. “Janet Jackson-Drake. Is she related to Tim?”

“She was his mother.” Damian frowned. He supposed it was respectful of his father to leave flowers for his adopted child’s mother while he was passing her grave. However, the choice of flowers gave him pause. “Why would he leave those for her?”

He’d mostly been thinking aloud, but Jon attempted an answer anyway.

“My dad says your dad doesn’t make friends easily. He says he isn’t trusting ‘cause he’s Batman but _Mom_ says part of that is him being ‘old money’. She says that means he can’t just expect people to be honest and to like him for him. Wasn’t Tim’s mom old money too? And they both grew up here. Maybe they were friends and he misses having a friend who gets it.”

Damian was still suspicious. But he knew his friend was generally more in touch with his humanity than he was, despite being half Kryptonian. Additionally, Jon’s assessment of the late Mrs Drake was accurate. She had been old money, not Wayne or Kane money, but still impressive. She had also been an intelligent and skilled business woman, from what Damian had dug up on her. She had been the sort of person it would make sense for his father to be friends with. 

Damian always thought of his father as Batman. He never considered what he’d been like as a child or who his friends might have been. He knew his father had known Timothy’s mother, but had no knowledge of the nature of their relationship. He decided he’d ask Alfred and Kate about that later. They’d know if his father had been friends with the Drake woman or not. 

His father spoke to Janet Drake’s gravestone. Damian nudged Jon. “What is he saying?”

Jon sighed and shook his head, but he answered. “He’s talking about Tim. He’s saying he’s sorry.” He listened for a moment longer and then looked at Damian. “I don’t think we should be spying on him right now. It doesn’t feel right.”

Damian groaned at his superpowered friend’s conscience. His father was too far away for him to see well and he was turned away from him. He hadn’t brought any of his gear. There was no way for him to know what his father was saying. Before he could come up with a suitable threat to get his friend to comply to his will, his father placed a hand on Janet Drake’s headstone and then turned to leave.

With his father gone, and everyone else that was likely to come having already been there, Damian figured it was time to leave his own regards. “I suppose I should get on with it, then.”

Before Damian could exit the tree, Jon spoke again, his tone casual. 

“Dick and Cassandra are coming.”

Damian sighed and remained in the tree. “Does _everyone_ come here on this day?” 

Jon smiled. “I think its nice they all want to visit her on her birthday.”

Damian scoffed. 

Dick and Cassandra arrived shortly after. Dick was speaking to Cassandra loudly enough that Damian could hear him and detect his tone, thought he couldn’t actually make out the words. His brother was carrying a bouquet consisting of chrysanthemum and morning glory along with some basil and fern. Cassandra brought a small bouquet that consisted of a single sunflower with some blue salvia and sorrel around it, tied with a single, large ribbon. They stopped at Martha Wayne’s grave and Dick’s voice lowered slightly, but his tone remained largely the same. 

Damian didn’t have to ask Jon what Dick was saying. His brother’s tone and gestures were enough for him to know he was telling her about some of the experiences over the last year. Cassandra didn’t speak. She simply placed a hand on the grave before they left. As they walked away, she turned partially toward the tree Damian and Jon were in and gave a small wave. 

Jon turned to his friend a moment after his siblings disappeared from view. “Are you going to try now or wait to see if Jason comes too?”

Damian shook his head. “If Todd were going to come, he would have accompanied Drake. I don’t think he likes cemeteries anyway. He seems to avoid them whenever practical.” It made sense, considering that he’d returned to life while still in his grave. 

Damian supposed it was time to approach his grandmother’s grave. He reminded himself of everything he’d considered earlier. He wasn’t sure why he was uncertain of it to begin with. It wasn’t as if she were truly there. He didn’t have to speak or do anything beyond drop off the bouquet as a sign of his regard for the woman. Even if he’d never met her. 

He jumped down from the tree, mindful not to crush the bouquet as he did so. Jon floated down after him. His friend stood back as he approached Martha Wayne’s grave and set the flowers down beside those left by her previous visitors. 

He stood there quietly for a moment. He wasn’t sure how long was considered respectful for the situation. His adopted siblings, father, and Alfred hadn’t all stayed for the same length of time, but they each remained for a long while. 

“You should introduce yourself.” 

Damian tsked and turn to look at Jon at the suggestion. “That’s stupid. Its a grave.” He fixed his jacket as he turned back to it. “I’m merely here to pay my respects to my father’s lineage.

“Its not as if she can hear me.” He put his hands on his hips and muttered the last part.

“Well can _I_ say hi? It feels weird just standing here.”

Damian huffed out a breath. Sometimes he wondered why the boy standing behind him was his friend. “If you feel you must, then I won’t stop you.”

Jon walked up beside him and offered Martha Wayne’s headstone a small, friendly wave. “Hi, Mrs Wayne. I’m Jon. I’m Damian’s friend. Happy birthday!” 

Once Jon addressed her, Damian felt it inappropriate for him to just stand there. “Hello, Grandmother. Happy birthday.”

Jon paused for a moment, then spoke to Martha Wayne again. “Your family is really nice. They care about people a lot. Even Dami, you just have to get to know him to see it.”

“Tsk. My name is Dami _an_.” He rolled his eyes. He would have said something rude to his friend, regarding his assessment, but it seemed like something his grandmother would have enjoyed hearing. Assuming she was aware of what was being said at her grave. After all, she cared a lot about people too. 

All in all, he supposed the visit wasn’t going too bad. 

They remained for a while longer before Damian decided he should return to the Manor.

After his friend walked with him all the way out of the cemetery, he decided to ask after his present plans. “Are you returning to Metropolis?”

“No, I’m going with you. My dad and brothers came too. Dad says your dad gets sad today, and since there wasn’t anything going on to distract him, he thought a visit would be nice.” He smiled at his friend. “We’re here to make you guys feel better. I even learned how to make mug brownies.”

“I don’t require being made to _feel better_. I don’t feel _badly_. Its just a day.” Damian actually wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling. It was as if there was a strange moroseness in the air that day. He supposed it could just be that his father and Alfred were down due to missing Martha Wayne when the date reminded them of her. He blamed puberty for why it was affecting him as well. 

“I can make you a black forest brownie.” Jon used a light, sing-song tone for that statement that might have been annoying.

Except that it _did_ sound good. 

Still, Damian didn’t want to perpetuate the idea that he required cheering up. He crossed his arms and sniffed indifferently. “If you like.”

Jon simply smiled and walked home with him. 

On their way to the kitchen, they passed the sitting room that their brothers and Cassandra were in. 

They were all watching a cooking competition on TV. Cassandra and Jason had a large bowl of popcorn between them that they were both eating with gusto. Dick was sitting on Cassandra’s other side, with a smaller bowl of popcorn. Bizarro was sitting beside Jason and occasionally reaching past his friend to grab some popcorn or grabbing a handful from the bowl in Conner’s lap. Conner was sitting on his brother’s other side with a medium size bowl of the treat. Timothy was on his other side and appeared to be using his friend’s bicep as a headrest in order to take a nap. 

Jon greeted everyone quietly. “Hey, we’re gonna make mug brownies. Anyone want one?”

That led to everyone, save for Timothy (who was still sleeping) and Conner (who didn’t want to wake his friend) joining them in the kitchen. While Jon was showing Cassandra, Jason, and Bizarro how to make the mug treats, Dick sneaked up behind Damian and pulled him into a hug. 

He planted a kiss on his youngest brother's hair. “Weird day, huh?”

“I don’t know why.” Damian didn’t push his brother off. He knew sometimes the man just liked to hold onto one of his siblings. Especially him, it seemed. “It isn’t as if any of us knew her.”

“Not personally, but we’ve all heard about her from Dad and Alfred. We know what she meant to them, and to Gotham. And we all know how much Dad misses her.” Dick gave his youngest brother a gentle squeeze before releasing him with a small back rub. “Its okay to feel something.”

“We should follow Dad’s example and just find a distraction.” Jason chimed in from the microwave, where he was waiting for his brownie to cook. 

Cassandra was waiting for her turn. “Its too early for crime fighting.”

Jason shrugged and cleared the microwave. “We could do something _else_. Don’t you guys have lives outside of all that in Blüdhaven?”

“We do, but we’re in Gotham.” Cassandra answered as she put her mug in. 

Her brother tilted his head to concede to her point. “True." He grinned lightly. “But now you can spend time with your favorite brothers.”

“Hey, now!” Dick swatted Jason on the shoulder. “No need to pick on me just because I’m the best big brother.” 

Jason snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Dick patted the arm he’d struck a moment earlier. “Hey...you’re doin’ good.”

His little brother rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.” Then Jason stuffed a spoonful of brownie into Dick’s mouth when he tried to speak again. It made his brother laugh. 

“Hey!” Jon suddenly perked up. “Since we’re all here, can we play Wizards & Warriors again? That was fun.”

Everyone glanced at one another, no one seemed opposed. Jason still made one caveat. “Only if Timbers feels up to it.”

Damian scoffed. “We could play without him.”

Dick nudged his shoulder. “That would be kinda mean, Little D.”

“Especially since we’ll need to use his books to play. We’d have to specifically point out we were playing without him.” Cassandra commented before shoving about a third of her brownie into her mouth. 

Bizarro crossed his arms and looked down at Damian. “Me am not hurting Little Red.”

Jason spoke through a mouthful of brownie. “Me either. The only reason any of us know how to play is because it was one of Timmy’s favorite games.” He swallowed. “Besides, do any of us know the game well enough to run a campaign on thirty seconds notice?”

Dick gently swatted Damian with the back of his hand and then pointed at Jason. “That too.”

Damian doubted any of them could run a campaign with a full day’s notice. “Very well, then.”

“He might feel up to it.” Dick reminded him. “Its not like Timmy’s known for taking it easy. And he just has a fever.”

Jason shook his head. “He doesn’t _just_ have a fever. He just can’t _hide_ the fever. He’s been taking acetaminophen pretty steadily for the past two days when no one else is looking. And he decided to go see Dr Thompkins on his own, so you know he was feeling shitter than he’s letting on.”

“He probably still wouldn’t have gone that quickly before you two partnered up.” Dick squeezed Jason’s shoulder and offered a small smile. “See? You _are_ doing good as a big brother.” His smile morphed into a smirk. “Obviously, you learned from the best.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go see if Timbers is feeling up to playing before I send _you_ to Dr Thompkins too.”

Dick laughed, then nodded. “Let’s try not to wake him if he’s still sleeping.”

Bizarro indicated his ear. “Me hear Little Red and Black-Pup talking.”

“Cool. Lets see if him and Con want to play.” Jon grabbed his mug brownie and one he’d made for Conner. 

Damian rolled his eyes but then he took a bite of the brownie Jon had made for him. It certainly wasn’t on par with any of Alfred’s desserts, but it was still very good. He chose to eat as he walked rather than comment. 

Sure enough, Timothy was awake and he and Conner liked the idea about playing. Timothy used his phone to set the printer in their father’s office to print out their character sheets while Jason left to retrieve the game books. Cassandra headed back to the kitchen to get more snacks. Dick left to get the character sheets.

Timothy started setting up the world while Dick passed out the sheets. “Okay, you all live in the same kingdom. The royal family is hosting a huge fair in honor of their beloved Queen Martha’s birthday. Each of you has to come up with some reason to be there. You can be entering one of the tournaments, performing in the carnival, selling wares or food, or just going to take in the spectacle.”

“I’m going to be a bard.” Dick offered with a small smile. “So I’ll be performing.”

Jason directed a smirk at Damian and spoke quietly. “There’s a surprise.” 

Damian smirked as well. Until he realized the character he was making was an assassin. He frowned and decided to at least change his weapon from a sword to throwing knives.

“I’m going to be a druid!” Jon announced. He offered Timothy a blank character sheet. “Can you make me a familiar?”

“Sure.” Timothy took the sheet. “Anything in particular you want?”

The boy simply smiled. “Surprise me.” His smile brightened when Timothy started rolling stats and look impressed with the results. 

“Me am farmer.” Bizarro commented. “Me am sell produce at fair.”

Conner frowned. “You live on a farm in real life. You don’t to try something different?”

His brother shrugged. “Me like farm.” Everyone seemed to think that was fair enough. Bizarro thought for a moment and then turned to Timothy. “Me have wife?”

“Yeah, you can have a wife on the farm.” He grabbed one of the spare character sheets. “Do you want to build her or do you want me to?”

“I could be his wife.” Cassandra suggested before glancing at Bizarro. “My character is an archer. I could hunt while you farm. And I can help you set up your produce at the fair before I take off for the archery tournament.” She offered their friend a smile. “Sound good?”

Bizarro grinned and nodded. Cassandra moved to sit by him so they could coordinate their characters’ backgrounds. She also appeared to be helping him work out his stats. 

Conner turned his head to look at Timothy. “Wait, if one of us has an NPC wife, can she fight with us?”

“Yeah.” Timothy shrugged. He frowned. “You meant in battle, right?”

Conner laughed silently, but Timothy was still leaning on him so it was clearly visible when the smaller of the pair started shaking. “Of course I meant in battle. Why would I want an imaginary wife to argue with me outside of battle?”

Timothy looked thoughtful. “Well, she could give you hints when you’re about to do something foolish. Which you’d likely argue with at first. Until you caught on.”

“In that case, Conner should _definitely_ have an NPC wife.” Jason matched the mild glare Conner shot him. “Well your ‘hit first and ask questions never’ approach kept screwing us last game.”

Conner considered that. “Yeah, okay. Tim, make one of your NPCs my character’s wife.” He shifted the character sheet he was filling out so Timothy would know what he was working with. 

Jon thought for a moment before announcing. “I don’t want a wife.”

“Nor do I.” Damian agreed. However he was wondering if he could get his character a pet somehow. 

“Me either.” Jason agreed as well. He glanced at Timothy. “Can my knight have a horse though?”

Timothy didn’t look up from the character sheet he was filling out for Conner’s wife. “Regular horse or magical horse?”

“Regular. Just super well-trained.” Jason amended. “For jousting and sword-fights on horseback.”

“Got it.” Timothy continued working on his NPCs. “Yeah, that works.”

Damian decided to just demand an animal companion for his character. “If Todd gets a horse, Jon gets a familiar, and Conner gets a wife, then I want a pet.”

“Do you want the pet to do anything?” Timothy asked. “What’s your character’s class? What are you doing at the start of the story?”

“Ideally, yes.” He hadn’t actually thought of what purpose his pet might serve, but he liked the idea of having additional options if it could assist him. Loathe as he was to admit it, Timothy’s creativity would mean he would likely come up with something better than Damian would himself. “I’m an assassin. True neutral. I haven’t figured out why I’m at the fair yet.”

“I can give you a target at the fair, if you want?” Timothy paused briefly to think. “How about a pet martin that you’ve trained to help you locate your marks? He could steal small identifying objects and even slip inside buildings to scout the entrances for you.”

“That’s acceptable.” When the game was over and everyone else had gone home, Damian was going to ask Timothy if a martin could actually be trained to do those things. 

Timothy slid two sheets of paper toward Damian a moment later. One was his Martin’s character sheet. He’d left the name for Damian to fill out. The other was some information on the mark his character would be looking for at the fair. The NPC was skilled enough to make the assassination a challenge but not so much that that it would be next to impossible to accomplish. Damian liked the challenge.

Timothy started organizing the assorted character sheets he had filled out. “Anyone else want a pet or familiar or spouse before we start?”

Bizarro and Cassandra both shook their heads. Dick smiled. “Can I have an elephant?” He held up a hand to stop everyone from reacting. “Just to ride and watch my stuff while we’re adventuring. She’s not gonna be battle trained or anything.”

Timothy thought for a moment. “Okay. But then everyone is going to need a steed so you’re all traveling at the same pace. Dick, you get your pacifist elephant and Jason gets his knightly steed. Biz and Cass, you have a pair of horses pulling your cart of produce to the fair and you can ride them too.”

“That’ll work.” Cassandra commented as she updated her character sheet and Bizarro nodded beside her. 

Timothy offered Jon a small smile. “Jon, you get to decide if you want to stick with your current familiar and a regular horse, or if you want a special steed-”

“Can it be a unicorn?” Jon cut in enthusiastically. 

“Sure. Your familiar is a unicorn.” Timothy didn’t sound surprised by the request. “Give me back the sheet so I can make some changes.” 

He coughed into his shoulder for a moment and then addressed his younger brother as he adjusted Jon’s familiar. “Damian, what do you want to ride?”

“I want a camel.” He’d always liked camels. They were durable. And they spit. When he was small, he used to wonder if one could train a camel to spit on demand. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been allowed a pet until he moved in with his father and he doubted he’d be allowed to keep a camel on the grounds.

“Why not?” Tim sounded like he was beyond caring about what made sense at this point. Either that, or he had something planned. “Add a camel to your character’s possessions. Make sure you put some skill points into animal handling though. You’ll have to roll to ensure he doesn’t spit on you whenever you have to handle him quickly.”

“And I still have my martin, correct?” Damian wanted to make sure it wasn’t a trade off. He liked the idea of the martin more than the camel. 

“Correct.” Timothy stifled another cough into his shoulder and put up his GM board. “Okay, everyone let me know when you’re ready.” 

Conner was looking at his his friend's chest in a manner that led Damian to believe he was using his x-ray vision again. He didn’t say anything, but he used his phone to send a quick text before putting it away and stating he was ready. A moment later, Alfred came in with drinks, coincidentally bringing some hot tea with lemon and honey for Timothy.

It wasn’t long before everyone was ready and the game began. 

The game was sillier than their previous games, but Damian had a lot of fun. They all had surprisingly good rolls. Timothy had timed out the game pretty well, but with everyone’s shenanigans, they ended up playing the campaign for several hours. It hadn’t felt that long when they were playing.

Timothy -as Conner’s wife- kept his best friend from doing anything too crazy, despite the fact that he was having more difficulty breathing as the game went on. Jason kept quoting Monty Python and making the others laugh. Dick kept trying to rhyme all his character's dialogue and he tried a taunt roll that he botched so badly he ended up flirting with one of the monsters they were trying to fight. Jon and Damian had a lot of fun with their pets in the game and kept going out of their way to include them, which Timothy went along with every time. Bizarro and Cassandra were the most focused players of the group, besides Timothy, and generally helped to keep everything moving forward while still laughing along with their friends and siblings. 

Afterwards, they continued joking and teasing one another, as well as going over some of the more interesting plot turns in the game. Finally, they all stopped speaking when they heard a deep, rich, rumbling sound from the doorway. 

Their fathers were both standing there, watching them. Both were quietly laughing. 

Clark spoke first. “Good game?” His sons confirmed, with Jon elaborating and Conner and Bizarro jumping in from time to time. He listened with a smile before stroking Jon’s hair and telling them it was time for them to head back to Metropolis. “I’m sorry, but we have things to do and so do your friends.”

Conner grabbed the snack bowl and started heading for the kitchen, but he paused by his father as he passed and Damian listened in when he heard him speak. “Something's wrong with Tim’s lungs. There’s fluid in them and his breathing sounds...bubbly. Will you take a look?”

While the younger Kryptonian seemed to use his x-ray vision on his best friend without thought, Damian knew that Clark was generally more respectful of the privacy of others. However, he immediately turned a concerned -and very concentrated- gaze on Timothy. 

The man’s voice was calm but firm when he addressed Timothy. Damian was a little bothered that he spoke as if talking to one of his own children. While he considered himself his father’s only real son, he knew his father didn’t. He thought his friend shouldn’t take such liberties, but the subject of Clark’s statement seemed to mean more to his father than his tone. 

“Tim, you need to see a doctor. Right now. I can take you, if you’d like.”

Timothy had switched from coughing into his shoulder, to coughing into a handkerchief (provided by Alfred, along with the tea) during the course of their game. He coughed into it again before responding and, not that he was paying attention, Damian realized that small amounts of phlegm and blood were staining it, along with a fair amount of moisture. “Thanks, Clark, but I already saw Dr Thompkins. I’m waiting on some results and then I’ll-”

Clark cut him off, which was another sign that the man was concerned. “You have pulmonary edema. I can _see_ it and _hear_ it.”

Conner had reentered the room. He crossed his arms and fixed his friend with a hard stare. “Its been rapidly getting worse while we’ve been here and don’t try to act like you didn’t notice.”

Jason reached over and put hand on Timothy’s chest. Everyone remained quiet for a moment as he observed his closest brother. “Your breathing _is_ fucked up. And you’re clammy. Next time, say something.”

Timothy merely nodded. Now that he was paying attention, Damian could hear the bubbly noise that Conner mentioned in Timothy’s breathing.

“C’mon.” Jason helped Timothy up as he stood and rubbed his back. “I’m taking you back to Dr Thompkins.” 

“Don’t bother.” Their father interrupted. “We’ll bring her here. Alfred, prepare the medical wing in the Cave.”

“It is already prepared, Master Bruce.” Alfred motioned for Jason to come with him, and the older boy led his little brother along with him. “I shall call Dr Thompkins as soon as Master Tim is settled.”

“I don’t need to be quarantined or anything, Alfie.” Timothy’s paused to release a wet cough into his handkerchief. “I just caught a bug from someone at work.” His breathing was sounding too labored by then, considering his lack of activity in comparison to what his body was accustomed to. “I’m on daily antibiotics and Dr Thompkins is _really_ strict with my vaccine schedule, so I already got a flu shot.”

“The problem is he keeps getting exposed to altering strains.” Jason added to that, defending the idea that his little brother’s illness was in no way brought about by his own irresponsibility. “Everyone’s kids keep getting sick now that they’re back in school, so they’re bringing their germs to the office like a bunch of carrier monkeys. We need to make a sign for Tim’s office telling them to keep the fuck away from their little immunocompromised boss when they’ve been exposed to certain bacteria or viruses.”

“That is a fine idea, Master Jason. In the meantime, it would still bring me great comfort to have you in a more sterile environment until your health improves, Master Tim.”

Clearly, Timothy wasn’t to argue in the face of Alfred’s concern and request for comfort. 

“Can’t we afford a super air filtration system for your office and the boardroom, at least? Its not like we need an air purification system for the whole damn building…” Jason’s complaints followed the trio as they headed off to the Batcave. 

“That’s actually a good idea.” 

When Damian turned his head, his father was already sending a text to someone with a look of concerned focus on his face. 

Meanwhile, Conner looked at his father. “Do we have to go?”

“Yes.” Clark wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. “But we both know you’re going to be listening to his heartbeat all night. If anything sounds bad, you can come back. Just let your mother or me know, okay?”

“Well, since it looks like Gotham is going to be down a couple vigilantes for a few nights, what do you say we stick around?” Dick offered Cassandra a questioning look, followed by a small grin as she replied. 

She nodded right away and took out her phone. “I’ll text Harper and Steph to let them know.”

The night was tense. Between his son being seriously ill and the fact that it was his deceased mother’s birthday, Batman was a little quieter and little rougher than usual that evening. Damian was fine with that, but Dick and Cassandra made comments whenever they were around. Mostly, they were too busy darting around the city to stick too close. Damian hated to admit it, but there was a noticeable increase in the amount of crime he and his father had to stop when Red Hood and Red Robin weren’t around. 

As was usual lately, his father sent Damian home much earlier than he was going to call it a night himself. It had been explained to Damian ad nauseam that as a ‘growing boy’ he needed more sleep than his father or siblings. The fact that Timothy was also still an adolescent never worked as an argument, since the slightly older teenager was emancipated. His father simply commented that if he were able, he’d send Timothy to bed earlier as well. Alfred would likely be distracted that evening, but if Damian was caught out after he’d been sent back to the Manor, he’d be grounded for a month. His father had made it very clear he would not tolerate his Robin going out on his own anymore, stating he’d lost or nearly lost his partner that way in the past too many times to take the risk any more.

So Damian returned to the Manor. He found Alfred waiting in the Cave, as usual. The man informed him that he’d taken the liberty of putting out his pajamas and turning down his bed for him. He also mentioned that there was his favorite tea as well as some tea biscuits and sandwiches in the kitchen if he wanted a snack before turning in. 

Timothy was in the Cave’s medical bay, propped up so as not to exacerbate his pulmonary edema. He had an IV attached to his hand and an oxygen tube attached to his nose. His lips had a slight blue tinge to them. It was clearly difficult for him to breathe and he kept coughing. Yet he was still working from his personalized laptop.

Damian turned back to Alfred. “Did you ever discover what is wrong with Drake?”

“I’m afraid he’s contracted a strain of pneumonia called _Streptococcus pneumoniae_. It is not simple to treat in patients with asplenia, mainly because they lack IgM memory B cells and due to their non-adherence to polysaccharide vaccines. Furthermore there is a deficiency of other splenic cells that, combined with the lack of B cells, can provide an environment favorable for the development of such a bacterial infection.” Alfred looked concerned as he took a glance toward Timothy. “It would have been better if we’d caught it sooner. As it is, I suggest keeping your brother in your prayers.”

Damian appreciated the clear and precise explanation. He appreciated that Alfred stressed the seriousness of Timothy’s illness to him without dramatizing it. “Thank you, Pennyworth. I think I’ll have that tea before bed.”

“Of course, Master Damian. I shall remain here for a few more hours, should you need anything else. Try to get some sleep. Good night.”

It wasn’t unusual for Alfred to remain in the Cave when Damian’s father was out as Batman. It was perfectly normal for him to request that Damian get a certain amount of sleep. However, there seemed to be more to his concern that evening. Without any of the others telling him, the man was likely aware that Batman was being particularly brutal that evening. Probably more so now, since he’d sent Damian off. 

Alfred was _very_ concerned. For Timothy, for Damian’s father, and for Damian himself.

Timothy glanced his way when he passed and offered a short nod of acknowledgement. The area he was in was clearly designed for sterilization, and Damian had no idea what he’d say to the other boy if he could approach him, so he simply returned the nod as he passed. 

Damian used his phone to look up the illness Alfred had told him about and how patients with asplenia might respond as he drank his tea and ate some biscuits. He took into account the condition he’d seen Timothy in and the treatments he was likely undergoing. His research wasn’t as thorough as Timothy’s would have been, but it still painted a clear enough picture. One that justified Conner’s concerns and Alfred’s request of prayer, as well as his father’s hostility toward the vermin they fought that night. One that justified Timothy working to get as much done as he could, just in case. 

As Damian headed toward his room, he passed a portrait of his grandparents in the dining room. He paused and looked at them, considering the way everyone had come to see Martha Wayne -to bring her bouquets with special meanings and to talk to her on her birthday, as though she were somehow present in their lives. 

He decided if he was ever going to give the whole ‘talking to the dead’ thing a chance, there was no time like the present. 

“Well, if you _are_ hanging around somehow, now would be the time to make yourselves _useful_. Father can’t handle losing another one of them. Do something about it. You were doctors, after all.”

He paused for another moment, but didn’t receive anything that could potentially be taken as a response, not the he’d expected one. So he continued on toward his room. 

He passed Jason’s room along the way. He always found it odd that the older teen rarely closed his door. It was halfway open at present, as though Jason wanted to be able to rush out of the room quickly, should he need to. 

Jason was sitting on his bed, wearing a pair of their father’s pajama pants and doing something on his own laptop. He looked tense and agitated. Timothy’s cat was curled at the end of Jason’s bed. It watched Damian in that way it had, where one became convinced the cat was actually taking your measure and finding you came up a bit short. However, it didn’t move from the bed.

Jason didn’t look up as he addressed Damian. “You need something, squirt?”

“No.” Damian frowned. “I was just surprised to find you here. I assumed you’d either go home or remain with Drake.”

Jason scoffed and looked at Damian with a disproving frown. “Like I’m going to leave when Timbers is this sick. Alfred didn’t want me keeping him up -as if _I’d_ be the reason he wouldn’t go to sleep- or potentially getting sick and then getting Tim sick again later. I left so Alfie would relax.” 

He indicated his laptop. “I’m still talking to Tim, though. You want me to tell him you said ‘goodnight’?”

“If you insist.” Damian waited while Jason typed and commented that Timothy returned the sentiment. “I’m surprised you didn’t go out tonight.”

“Never go out of you’re really stressed or upset, kiddo.” Jason advised. “You’ll either end up killing someone or getting yourself hurt. If I went out tonight, I’d shoot half the criminals I caught. I’ve got other work to do anyway.”

Jason returned to his laptop, apparently working. “You should get some sleep. Its gonna be a rough few days ‘till Timmy’s antibiotics do their thing.”

Jason didn’t mention that the antibiotics could _not_ do their thing. That Timothy could _not_ get better. That they could all end up with another grave to lay flowers on soon. 

Damian didn’t bring it up either. It wasn’t that he was upset about it overly much. He simply didn’t want to upset Jason while he was clearly trying to avoid considering that distinct possibility. 

Again, Jason addressed him without looking away from his work. “You need to be tucked in or something?”

Again, Damian frowned. He recognized that the comment was both hostile and droll at the same time. Jason was upset about Timothy’s illness and as usual, he filtered that upset into anger. It was more useful. At the same time, he clearly didn’t want to take it out on Damian and was even willing to try to help his youngest sibling, if he needed something. 

Still, Damian didn’t appreciate the suggestion that he was a baby. “I’m thirteen, Todd. Perhaps _you_ still required being ‘tucked in’ at that age, but I am well beyond the need for such things.”

“Yet, Alfie left out your milk and cookies for when you got back.” Jason spoke in a deadpan as he continued working.

Damian glared. “It was _tea_ and _biscuits_.” He crossed his arms and sniffed disdainfully. “Not that a cretin like you would know the difference.”

“It was milk tea, and biscuits are just fancy cookies.” Jason shot back, seemingly unbothered by Damian’s ire. “I was partially raised by Alfred, too, remember. I know this shit. Doodh pati chai is mostly milk.”

Damian hadn’t realized that Jason knew what his favorite tea was. He wondered if each of his siblings did. In retrospect, it wouldn’t be surprising if they did. He didn’t know any of theirs. He’d never felt like he should before.

He turned to head to his room, but paused. He didn’t look back when he spoke. “What type of tea do you prefer, then?”

Jason paused, possibly surprised by the question. “My favorites are noon chai or gunpowder tea, if I have time. Otherwise, I stick with black tea.” He typed briefly before stopping and explaining further, as though he just realized why Damian asked. “Tim likes herbal teas and green tea. Moroccan style green tea is his favorite.

“Dick likes sun tea the best -his mother used to make it- but Alfred thinks its a disgrace to tea, so he rarely drinks it here. Thanks to Alfred insisting he drink ‘real tea’, he also likes Earl Grey. Cass prefers Turkish tea, but she’s not much pickier about tea than she is about food. Dad likes black tea, too. He usually drinks English Breakfast. I think he just likes it for the caffeine though.”

Damian nodded to indicate that he’d received the information, even if Jason wasn’t actually looking at him. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. It wasn’t as though he was likely to order tea anywhere for his siblings or father, but he’d still wanted to know. 

“You should sleep as well, Todd. Drake will be asking for you, once he’s well.” If he did get better, Damian had no doubt Jason would be the first person Timothy wanted to see. And since Jason clearly didn’t want to address the possibility of him not getting better, there was no point in saying anything else. 

Jason’s expression was _almost_ , but not quite, a smile. “Thanks, Damian. Good night.”

“Good night, Todd.”

Damian went to sleep. 

It was a rough few days, after that. Both his father and Jason were short tempered and moody. Dick overcompensated, which could get annoying, Damian had to admit. Cassandra was mostly quiet. Damian himself was in a foul mood (he’d swear it was just because the others were in such poor moods). Alfred was clearly doing his best to keep everyone from crossing any lines.

To everyone’s surprise, Timothy did get better. And rather quickly. Dr Thompkins said she’d never seen someone with such a compromised immune system recover so swiftly from such an illness. 

Damian knew it was merely a coincidence that he’d asked his grandparents for help and Timothy had swiftly recovered. 

His father had put each of his adopted children through vigorous training and testing before allowing them to fight crime by his side. Timothy had even once survived being stabbed in the chest because Bruce had taught him how to slow his heartbeat to prevent from bleeding out and trick his attacker into thinking he had no pulse. He’d been inoculated against every illness possible. He’d been taking antibiotics daily since the loss of his spleen. Conner and Clark had caught his pulmonary edema early. He’d been under the extremely competent care of both Dr Thompkins and Alfred while he was ill. 

If Damian dropped another bouquet of flowers at his grandmother’s grave, it was only because he wished to express his respect for her alone and he’d been disturbed the previous time. If the camellias that made up the bouquet happened to express gratitude, it was a coincidence. Or perhaps his subconscious wanting to express thankfulness for his superior genes. Either way, Damian refused to believe (or admit) that he suspected his paternal grandparents were somehow looking out for his family. That didn’t mean he believed his deceased grandparents had answered his request. 

If he spoke to his grandmother’s grave, well, practically everyone did. Why shouldn’t he? It was just a gesture to include his blood relative in his life, even is she was departed. It was simply a show of regard.

The same if he brought his father a cup of English Breakfast Tea when he woke him up early for a training session. Or if he asked Alfred to order some Turkish tea for when Cassandra came over to help him with his swordplay. 

He agreed to the idea of the whole family getting flu shots because he saw how sick Timothy had gotten and didn’t want to get sick himself. It didn’t mean he’d been _concerned_. 

He still didn’t see why everyone was so sentimental in a family full of vigilantes. 

He stopped by his grandmother’s grave more often after that, but it was only because he had no other grandmother and he was proud to be her grandchild. He greeted her with a simple ‘Hello, grandmother’ because it was likewise respectful, as far as he’d seen. He brought her flowers because that was simply what one did when vising a relatives’ grave. He dog-eared a few pages of the book Timothy had shown him before Martha’s birthday and always chose his flowers carefully because he liked to express himself.

At least, that’s what he said when Jon caught him at his grandmother’s grave again before they were all going to play some more Wizards & Warriors a few weeks later. 

Jon just smiled. “You can come as often as you want and leave as many flowers as you want, Damian. She’s your grandma.”

“Grand _mother_.” Damian corrected. He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at his slightly taller friend as best he could. “And you’re damn right, I can.”

Jon responded by placing a hand on his friend's shoulder and asking, quite sincerely, “Do you need a brownie?”

Damian simply rolled his eyes and started walking away.

Jon waved and said “Bye, Mrs Wayne!” to the woman's grave before catching up to him. 

Jon made him the brownie anyway. Alfred brought everyone’s favorite tea, even though no one was sick. Timothy didn’t cough or lean on Conner throughout the whole game. Everyone was a little more focused, but they still had a lot of fun. Their fathers still smiled when they came up to retrieve them.

If Martha Wayne _was_ watching them, then Damian suspected she would be happy by what she saw. The thought made him happier than he’d expected. 

The next week, he left his grandmother a bouquet of pink roses in full bloom. 

“Hello, Grandmother. I thought you’d like these.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Alfred’s wreath for Martha)  
> Daffodils: Regard  
> White Carnation: Innocence, pure love, women’s good luck gift  
> Pink Carnation: I’ll never forget you  
> Fern: Sincerity, humility; also, magic and bonds of love  
> Ivy: Friendship, continuity
> 
> (Bruce’s bouquet for Martha)  
> Red Rose: Love, I love you  
> Crimson Rose: Mourning  
> White Clover: Think of me  
> Fern: Sincerity, humility; also, magic and bonds of love
> 
> (Bruce’s bouquet for Janet)  
> Purple Hyacinth: Sorrow, forgiveness, regret  
> White Hyacinth: Loveliness, prayers for someone  
> Fern: Sincerity, humility; also, magic and bonds of love
> 
> (Tim’s bouquet for Martha)  
> Aster: Symbol of Love, Daintiness  
> Bluebell: Humility, kindness  
> Daisy: Innocence, hope  
> Edelweiss: Courage, devotion  
> Violet: Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness, modesty  
> Morning Glory: Affection
> 
> (Dick’s bouquet for Martha)  
> Chrysanthemum: Cheerfulness  
> Morning Glory: Affection  
> Basil: Good wishes  
> Fern: Sincerity, humility; also, magic and bonds of love
> 
> (Cassandra’s bouquet for Martha)  
> Sunflower: Adoration  
> Blue Salvia: I think of you  
> Sorrel: Affection
> 
> (Damian’s last bouquet*)  
> Pink Roses: grace, happiness, gentleness 
> 
> *any rose in full bloom can also represent gratitude.


End file.
